[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property

by Morgan Howell

The Queen’s Man shook his head. “It’s a touchy matter.”

  “I understand.”

  “The problem lies in the piss eyes’ notions about women. They’re quite bizarre,” said Tarkum. “Thank Karm, our girls haven’t noticed.”

  “Well, Dar’s noticed,” said Murdant Kol. “It’s causing trouble.”

  “Just one dead soldier.”

  “I’ve sent many a man to the Dark Path,” said Kol. “A murdant gains respect through fear. It wouldn’t do to have the men fear a woman.”

  “So, what do you propose?”

  “Ask the piss eyes to cast her out.”

  “That would be difficult,” said Tarkum. “If they’ve let her stay, they probably consider her a mother.”

  Kol snorted. “Dar’s no mother.”

  “It’s what piss eyes call their women, though it’d be the first time they’ve called one of ours that.”

  “So what?”

  “Piss eyes call their queen ‘Muth Mauk.’ It means ‘Great Mother.’ They obey me only because I speak for her,” said Tarkum. “I can’t ask them to question a mother’s authority.”

  “Authority? Karm’s ass! How can a branded bitch have authority?”

  “Among piss eyes, all mothers have authority. Your branded bitch and their queen are different, but only by degree. It’s daft, but that’s what piss eyes believe.”

  “All the more reason to get rid of her,” said Kol. “Let her be, and she’ll end up running the regiment.”

  “You give her too much credit. She’s just a simple hillbitch.”

  “What if she stirs up the orcs?” asked Kol. “What if more girls join her? One already has.”

  “Who?”

  “A scabhead called Twea.”

  The Queen’s Man frowned. “So, one bad fish is spoiling the broth. You’re right. This can’t abide.”

  “So, when do we squash her?”

  “We’ll have to rid ourselves of more than Dar. Find a rat in the wine cask and you dump the whole thing.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “Those piss eyes that protect her will not return from battle. I’ll see to that. Once they’re gone, you’ll have a free hand with the girl.”

  “I look forward to that day, sir,” said Murdant Kol.

  “Aye,” replied the Queen’s Man, giving his high murdant a knowing look. “I’m sure you do.”

  Dar and Twea sat outside Kovok-mah’s shelter, enjoying the calmness of the evening. “Where’s Kovy?” asked Twea. “It’s way past dinner.”

  “He’s praying,” said Dar. “It’s Nuf Bahi, the night when Muth la’s eye is fully open.”

  “Her eye?”

  “Look,” said Dar, pointing to the full moon. “She’s watching us.”

  “Is that why Kovy’s praying?”

  “Hai. It’s a special night. The urkzimmuthi say Muth la sends visions to mothers on Nuf Bahi.”

  Twea looked about. “Where are they? I don’t see anything.”

  Dar smiled. “Few receive them.”

  “Have you?”

  “Never.”

  “Maybe I will.” Twea stared intently.

  “Don’t use your eyes alone,” said Dar. “What do you feel?”

  “Cold,” said Twea. “That’s all.”

  Dar wrapped an arm about Twea. Though the air was still and warm, the girl was shivering.

  “Do you see anything?” asked Twea.

  Dar gazed about the moonlit enclosure. The deep voices of the praying orcs enhanced her feeling that she was within sacred space—both embraced and watched by Muth la. She glanced down at Twea, who still peered wide-eyed into the darkness. She feels it, too. The idea of visions no longer seemed far-fetched.

  Dar spied movement. At first it seemed like fog rising from the river. Then it resolved into the figure of Twea walking toward her. She was naked, and an unfelt wind blew her hair. When the girl came nearer, Dar could see through her pale flesh.

  Dar was both awestruck and shaken to the core. She felt that the solid, everyday world had cracked to spill a glimpse of something significant and perilous to ignore. It’s Twea’s spirit! She’s walking the Dark Path! When Dar could no longer bear the sight, she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, the figure was gone. Dar became aware that Twea was shaking her arm. “Dar, why were you staring like that? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You looked so sad,” said Twea. “What did you see?”

  “Nothing,” said Dar, hugging Twea close. “It was nothing.”

  Twenty-eight

  Dar’s vision haunted her. Sometimes she thought it was a warning so she might prevent Twea’s death. Other times she feared it foretold the inevitable. Either way, it made Dar anxious whenever she was separated from the girl. Murdant Kol noticed this, for he was always looking for ways to hurt Dar. While he dared not harm her directly, he saw Dar’s attachment to Twea as a vulnerability he could exploit.

  Each morning, women were sent out to follow a wagon and fill it with firewood. As the nearby countryside was stripped of fuel, the women’s trek had grown longer until it took most of the day. Knowing this, Kol ordered Murdant Teeg to put Twea on firewood duty. As soon as Twea left, Dar began to fret.

  By noon, Dar was convinced she would never see the girl again, but Twea surprised her by returning early. She was in a buoyant mood. “Dar! Guess what!” shouted Twea as she scampered to Dar’s side. “I rode a horse!”

  Dar’s relief turned to alarm. “Whose horse?”

  Twea’s smile vanished, and she became defensive. “Someone nice. He says he knows you. His name’s Sevren.”

  “I don’t know any Sevren.”

  “He’s a King’s Guard. He has red hair.”

  “Him? What did he do to you?”

  “He just gave me a ride. Why are you mad?”

  “I’m not mad at you,” said Dar. “But I don’t trust soldiers.”

  “He’s not a soldier,” said Twea. “He’s a guard.”

  “It’s the same thing,” said Dar.

  “I assure you that’s untrue,” said a man’s voice.

  Dar whirled and saw Sevren walking toward her. “You!” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

  “Seeing that Twea’s safe,” replied Sevren.

  “She’s under an orc’s protection. She doesn’t need yours.”

  “Then that orc should be more vigilant. Twea should na wander alone outside the camp.”

  “Alone!” said Dar.

  “The wagon went too fast,” said Twea. “I couldn’t keep up.”

  “Twea,” said Dar. “I need to speak to Sevren. Go ask Taren what job needs to be done.” She waited until Twea had left before she turned to Sevren. “And what were you doing out there?”

  Sevren saw the distrust on Dar’s face and chose to be candid. “I was looking for her.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought if I got to know her, I’d get to know you.”

  “You were mistaken.”

  “Well, I have a question of my own,” said Sevren. “Why was a wee lass sent to get wood? Is your murdant daft?”

  “You’re the one who’s daft if you don’t understand.”

  “Then I’m daft.”

  “He put her in harm’s way to punish me.”

  “Are you saying he’d permit her to be harmed?”

  “Permit her!” said Dar with a bitter laugh. “He’d do it himself if he dared. Your army holds Twea worthless, though it’d pay five silvers for her head.”

  “It’s na my army.”

  “You’re pleased enough to be in it,” retorted Dar, “with your fancy clothes and fine horse. They didn’t have to brand you to make you stay!”

  “Aye, I lack a brand,” said Sevren. “Yet I’m na so pleased to be here. I dislike the Northern ways.”

  “Then get on your horse and ride away.”

  “I will, one day.”

  “Twea and I can n
ever do that,” said Dar. She turned to walk away, and felt a light touch on her arm. Dar whirled. “What?”

  Sevren looked chastened, but still anxious to speak. “I did na fully understand,” he said, “and that was a fault on my part. Yet now that you’ve instructed me, perhaps I can be of help.”

  “You can’t. Now leave us be.”

  “It’s clear you can take care of yourself. Can Twea do the same? I can give her safety.”

  “How?”

  “The king arrives soon. They’ll need extra hands at the royal compound. Your murdant can na touch her there.”

  “Do you mean Twea could work for the king?” asked Dar.

  “It’d be kitchen duty, but safer than gathering wood.”

  “I…I’d appreciate that.”

  “Come with her and work together.”

  Dar hesitated.

  “I’m sure it’d please Twea.”

  “All right,” said Dar. “I will.”

  Sevren smiled. “Then look for me tomorrow morning.” Before Dar could say anything more, he left.

  Dar watched Sevren go with mixed feelings. She felt hopeful, yet suspicious. Murdant Kol had been kind to her, and now he was her enemy. Should I trust this man? Experience told her that she should not.

  After Dar served the orcs and cleaned up, she reentered Muth la’s Embrace and walked to Kovok-mah’s shelter. Twea was asleep in Kovok-mah’s lap. He sat so still that Dar thought he was asleep also. She pushed the reeds closed, wrapped herself in her cloak, and lay down within the space in front of his knees. She had just closed her eyes when Kovok-mah whispered, “Tava, Dargu.”

  “Tava, Kovok-mah.” Dar continued speaking in Orcish. “I am glad you sleep not.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish to speak of visions,” said Dar.

  “Sons know little of visions.”

  “But I heard you…” Dar tried to think of the Orcish word for “pray,” but couldn’t. “…heard you speak to Muth la on Nuf Bahi.”

  “Sons speak to Muth la, and Muth la listens,” said Kovok-mah. “But Muth la speaks to mothers.”

  “I think Muth la may have shown me something that night,” said Dar. “I need to understand what I saw.”

  Kovok-mah said nothing. After a while, Dar wondered if he had gone to sleep. “Kovok-mah?” she whispered.

  “Hai?”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Speak not of what you saw,” said Kovok-mah in an uneasy voice.

  “Why?”

  “Such things are not for sons to hear. They are deep matters, shown to few mothers.”

  “Perhaps it was not vision,” said Dar, hoping it wasn’t.

  “Perhaps,” replied Kovok-mah. “You will know soon enough.”

  Dar and Twea rose before dawn and left the Embrace of Muth la. A few sleepy women were at the cooking site, warming themselves by a small fire. Taren and Neffa were among them, along with Memni, who looked particularly miserable. Dar assumed most of the women were still sleeping with soldiers. The group about the fire fell silent as Dar approached. Twea received the same treatment, but it didn’t prevent her from talking about riding a horse.

  The sun rose and men began to arrive for their half ration of cold porridge. The other women appeared. Murdant Teeg arrived to assign work details. There was no sign of Sevren, and Dar feared he had raised her hopes falsely. Twea already had been assigned to gather wood when a stranger in blue and scarlet rode up. He was burly with a neatly trimmed blond beard. Halting his horse at the cooking site, he asked in a loud voice, “Who’s murdant here?”

  “I am,” said Murdant Teeg.

  “I need two women to work at the royal compound.”

  “Memni!” shouted Teeg. “Tasha!”

  “I’ll choose the women,” said the man. He peered about and pointed at Twea. “I’ll have that wee one there and…” He looked about some more. “…the one they call the orc wench.”

  “You’ll have neither,” said Murdant Kol, who had just appeared.

  “And who are you?”

  “High Murdant Kol.”

  The man appeared unimpressed. “These women will work for the king. If you do na like it, speak to him.” He turned toward Twea and Dar. “Come, lassies, there’s work to be done.”

  The man began to slowly ride away. Dar and Twea, after a moment of hesitation, tagged behind. Murdant Kol watched, silent and red-faced, as they departed. The man on horseback said nothing until they were halfway to the royal compound. Then he burst out laughing. “Your high murdant must be very fond of you. He looked heartbroken when you left him.”

  “Are we leaving for good?” asked Twea.

  “Nay, only while we bide in camp,” said the man.

  “Sevren sent you, didn’t he?” said Dar.

  “Aye. I’m his murdant. Murdant Cron.”

  “Is he your superior?” asked Dar.

  “Nay, I’m his,” said Cron. “But we Southerners stick together.”

  “What will we be doing?” asked Dar.

  “Na much until the king arrives. You’ll help Davot. He’s the cook.”

  When they entered the royal compound, Cron led Dar and Twea to a large tent. A wisp of smoke rose from a vent along its ridge, and soot darkened the red and blue fabric. When Dar entered the tent, she expected to find a fire pit. Instead, she saw a row of large metal boxes. “What are those?” she asked.

  “Have ye never seen a woodstove?” asked a plump man wearing a greasy, food-stained doublet. He turned to Cron. “What kind of help have ye brought me?”

  “Two fit for scrubbing and glad to do it.”

  “What’re yer names?” asked the man, whom Dar assumed was Davot. After Dar and Twea answered, he looked at them with an amused expression. “Ye’re glad to scrub?” he asked.

  “It’s better work than we usually do,” said Dar.

  Davot smiled. “Then pity there’s so little of it. There’ll be only the porridge pot to scrub until the king arrives.”

  “When will that be?” asked Dar.

  “Whenever he pleases,” said Davot. “Ye can be certain of that.” He led Dar over to a kettle that held warm porridge. “Empty what’s left into a bowl and clean the pot. Help yerself to porridge while ye’re at it. There’s no rationing here. When ye’re done, ye can visit yer guardsman.”

  Dar stiffened. “My guardsman?”

  The cook grinned. “Do ye really think I need two lasses to scrub a pot?”

  “I’m staying with Twea,” said Dar.

  Sevren entered the cook tent long after the pot had been thoroughly scrubbed. He smiled when he saw Twea and Dar. “Twea,” he said, “would you like to ride Skymere?”

  Twea, who had been tidying the stack of firewood, jumped up excitedly. “I’d love to!”

  Sevren turned to Dar. “You can come, too.”

  “Three can’t ride a horse,” said Dar.

  “Twea will ride,” said Sevren. “You and I can walk.”

  “Come with us, Dar,” said Twea. “Please.”

  Dar gave Sevren a dubious look. “Why are you doing this?”

  Sevren grinned. “I’ve always been partial to black teeth.”

  “An orc crushed the neck of the last man who touched me.”

  “I know.”

  “He’d do it again.”

  “Then my life is in your hands,” said Sevren.

  “It’s in your hands,” retorted Dar. “Watch where you put them.”

  Dar’s warning had the effect of broadening Sevren’s grin. “I knew we’d get along.”

  Dar shot him a quizzical and slightly irritated look.

  The three left the tent. Skymere was outside. Sevren lifted Twea into the saddle, then handed Dar the reins. “You can lead him. He trusts you.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “There’s a path along the river,” said Sevren. “It’s a pleasant place. Quiet, too.”

  Soon they were walking by the Turgen. Dar and Sevren were silent. Skym
ere’s hoofs upon the gravel, the rush of water, and Twea’s gay chatter were the only sounds.

  As Dar walked along, she studied the man beside her. He seemed only a few years older than her, but already marked by a military life. His lean frame had a hardened look—wiry, yet strong—and was animated by an alertness that made Dar think Sevren would be deadly with a knife or sword. His face had a battered look. A scar notched his cheek and the bridge of his nose. Whenever Sevren smiled, it gave his mouth a funny twist. But it was his eyes that Dar noticed most. They were as unusual as his red hair—pale brown, and when they caught the sun, Dar saw flecks of green and gold. Sevren smiled frequently at Twea’s remarks, and those smiles lingered in his eyes. They lessened Dar’s uneasiness.

  Twea was talking about her home when Dar impulsively asked Sevren where he was from. He looked surprised that Dar had spoken. “Averen,” he said.

  “Where’s that?” asked Dar.

  “It lies far south of the Cloud Mountains. Past Luvein and Vinden, then to the west. Mountain country. As beautiful as Karm is good. There’s no place finer.”

  “Then why’d you leave?”

  “In the highlands, a boy can follow two trades—farming or fighting. Farming takes land. To fight, you only need a sword.”

  “So you were raised to be a soldier?” asked Dar.

  “Nay, but landless sons must make their own way.”

  “And this is the way you chose.”

  Sevren detected scorn in her voice. “An empty purse chose it for me. I’m a farmer—just one who lacks a farm. But that will change. I’ve saved what I earned.”

  “Earned by looting farmers,” said Dar.

  “I protect the king,” said Sevren. “That’s different from soldiering.”

  “I’ve seen what’s done in his name,” said Dar. “Looting. You protect a looter.”

  Sevren’s face turned grim. “Best keep such words behind your teeth. If they reach the wrong ears…”

  “Have they?”

  Sevren shook his head.

  “Do you think I’m wrong?”

  “I’m a King’s Guard. I will na answer.”

  “Why not? Whisper so only I will hear.”

  “The king has a mage who’s skilled in secret arts,” said Sevren. “He can hear and see what others cannot. Even thoughts, they say.”